


Spring Awakening

by Juliko



Category: Sakura Gari
Genre: Dark Past, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Matricide, Murder, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Child Abuse, Patricide, Points of View, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms), Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliko/pseuds/Juliko
Summary: "He didn’t merely dislike spring. He loathed it. He hated it with every tainted, black stained fiber of his being. Spring always reigned as the dark king, deceiving the world with its luscious, pinky white beauty, charming the denizens of Tokyo with frothing, cloud-like blossoms of cherry trees, fresh clean air, and promises of new changes. Every year, it seemed like spring tried to go to extreme lengths to make the next spring better than the last in everyone’s memories.Souma knew better. Spring didn’t change at all. Not for him, at least. He could clearly see past the flowery facade spring always displayed. Nothing had changed since his tumultuous birth, and as far as he was concerned, nothing ever will."Souma's first encounters with Masataka from Souma's point of view, before he hurts him.





	Spring Awakening

One question was offered to Souma Saiki over the years, even during his schoolboy days: “What’s your least favorite season?” To that, his answer was always the same. “Spring.” But to say it was his least favorite season would be a gross understatement. He didn’t merely dislike spring. He loathed it. He hated it with every tainted, black stained fiber of his being. Spring always reigned as the dark king, deceiving the world with its luscious, pinky white beauty, charming the denizens of Tokyo with frothing, cloud-like blossoms of cherry trees, fresh clean air, and promises of new changes. Every year, it seemed like spring tried to go to extreme lengths to make the next spring better than the last in everyone’s memories.

Souma knew better. Spring didn’t change at all. Not for him, at least. He could clearly see past the flowery facade spring always displayed. Nothing had changed since his tumultuous birth, and as far as he was concerned, nothing ever will.

In spring, cherry blossoms bloomed, their petals falling from the branches, dancing across the wind. The perfect symbol of Japanese beauty. One particular tree stood in his garden for many years, unchanging, unyielding, braving the elements with grace and elegance.

They bloomed even as his stepmother’s whip cut through layers of his skin, cracking the air around him like rolling thunder. All his life, Souma was forever bound by ropes tying his hands and ankles together. Hands and mouths touching him wherever they could reach, invasive, intrusive, shattering him into a thousand fracturing pieces with each fresh blow. Screams and hysterical yelling pounding on his ears. He wasn’t supposed to be the heir of the Saiki clan, as far as Sakurako was concerned. Her own son should have been heir. How dare he take her son’s place away from him? What made a bastard child born from a Western woman so special, she would say. Then she would remove her kimonos and bare herself. Souma knew what was coming.

Crying out did nothing, even as she hurt him with every part of her. Nobody seemed to hear, or if they did, nobody cared enough to rescue him. Even as he endured the searing pain and cried out, the blossoms outside still bloomed. Petals scattered down to the grass, draping it with a pink carpet. Was this...his punishment? For being alive? To watch beauty unfold before him as he was ravaged, beaten, and used as little more than a doll by those around him? Then again, he hadn’t earned the nickname “The Western Doll” for nothing. People all over Tokyo were entranced by his non-Japanese face, his light, tawny brown hair, his bright eyes, his doll-like features. Was that all he was to them? Merely a doll to be paraded around for show? A toy to be thrown around, used to entertain the whims of those around him?

On one spring day, an eleven year old Souma had walked into the garden, carrying a knife in his trembling hands. Inside, he was burning, anger blazing red hot. His shaking hand gripped the hilt of the blade so tight that his knuckles turned white, just like the cloud-like blooms on the cherry tree standing before him. But all he could see was red. Red, the color of blood, just like the whip lashes on his back. The bite marks and hickeys on his arms and chest. The blood spilling out from his stepmother’s wrists, staining the water in the bathtub deep crimson.

A ghastly sight that would never leave his mind.

Things were supposed to change. Everything was supposed to change. But they didn’t. His stepmother dying made absolutely no difference. He ran over to the tree, knife in hand, howling as he slashed the tree trunk with great flourish. As he charged, memories flooded his mind, overwhelming him. Men surrounding him, having their way with him. His stepmother boxing his ears for supposedly bullying her precious child. The smell of iron assailing his nostrils when he saw her dead in the bathtub.

The epiphany was already in full swing as Souma continued to hack at the tree trunk. All of the horrors that he endured soared into his being as he cut into the tree. Every slash, every cut, every swing was full of anger he could not express. The pain, the sorrow, the loneliness…

“I hate you!!” Souma bellowed, having successfully made one large cut, followed by two more. “I hate you!! I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you!!” His bright eyes were ablaze, and his arms grew sore from throwing the knife all around like an enraged samurai cutting down his enemies. But he paid no attention to the pain in his body. He wanted it all out. He wanted this stupid tree to rot. Disappear. Go away. Souma wanted to destroy it. There was no way he could hurt the people who hurt him. They had the power. He didn’t. He was merely their toy, their Western Doll, as they said. Good thing trees couldn’t talk or hurt people. He wanted the tree to rot from the inside, wither away, and die! Cutting this tree was very satisfying, even if it accomplished nothing.

“Why won’t you die?!” A rush of tears streamed down his face in full force, even as Souma managed one last clean cut on the tree.

Footsteps made the grass rustle. “Souma-sama!! What are you doing?!” Butlers and maids from the house came running. Hands gripped at his tiny wrists, with one smacking the knife out of his hand. No, here they were again. The evil hands that hurt him so many times had come back, and they were going to hurt him all over again, probably forever.

It was a lost cause, he had come to realize. The pain would never end for as long as he would live on this wretched earth. Broken cries escaped his tiny body, even as he kicked his skinny legs and flailed his spindly arms with all his might in futile attempts to escape his captors. He screamed, kicked, punched, and spat in their faces. None of it worked. Agony filled the air even as he was dragged back into the house, scolded for his behavior, which was not proper for a Saiki son.

For years thereafter, it hurt to breathe. It hurt to sleep. Nightmares plagued his dreams, leaving no room for any kind of respite. Souma couldn’t bear to sleep. If he did, the bad dreams would just make him wake up in a cold sweat, torturing him for all eternity. Whether he slept or not, the days would always be the same. Wake up, go to school, do chores, and be used by whoever wanted to have their way with him. No one could be trusted. Nothing would ever change. Any attempts at putting his feelings into words was lost on him, and even if he did, he was sure nobody would listen anyway. It was disgraceful to the family if such secrets were revealed, they had said.

Maybe...Souma was the disgrace? A mere Western doll, unworthy of real love and the right to exist?

Young Souma cried into his pillows, leaving wet tear stains on the casing. The pain would never end.

* * *

In the year 1920, when Souma was twenty six, something new had happened. A high school boy had trespassed onto his garden.

“Please take me on as a servant!!” The boy begged, bowing before Souma on all fours, his hakama pants stained with grass.

The butlers and maids protested. But something inside Souma told him to take him under his wing. At the time, he wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to accept him. Even so, taking the boy’s letter of recommendation in his hands, Souma could feel that something different was going to happen. Maybe the decades long monotony of his life would finally change. After all, the boy did swear to give him his loyalty for all of his days.

“I’ve accepted your letter of recommendation,” Souma said cooly, casting a glance at the boy’s direction. “But my father will be the one to decide whether to take you on or not.”

The boy’s face beamed with joy upon hearing not only this, but Lord Saiki’s approval as a whole. The mere sight of delight on the young high schooler’s face tugged at Souma’s heart as he witnessed his father voice his approval. What was this? He could feel his heart racing slightly faster than normal. He had never felt this way before. Souma merely pursed his lips together. Perhaps some fresh meat would spice things up a bit.

The new servant, Masataka Tagami, came from the countryside to go to high school and prepare for his university entrance exams, but needed a means to support himself. Every day, he would wake up and do his chores merrily, singing happy folk songs in a cheery voice, though Souma had to admit, Masataka was clearly tone deaf, unable to carry much of a tune to save his life. Still, the sincerity in his clear voice tugged at something inside of him. Masataka himself was no great prize, with short, raven black hair, a small build, and spindly limbs. A typical Japanese boy, the picturesque image of schoolboy youth, but his eyes were as bright as a star-studded night sky, beaming bright just like the rest of him when Souma offered to hire him. They had shone with such joy that it made Souma almost fall over from surprise, and there was a warmth to them that he had never seen before. What was this?

He had assumed that he would be no different from the other servants. Dutifully obedient, but not one to rock the boat, even as bad things happened. The Saiki house would surely taint him with its darkness and leave him afoul with its poison. If Souma were to be hurt, Masataka wouldn’t bat an eye, or he would be kept in the dark...that was what he thought, until the party at the Morisaki mansion. A drunk had decided it would be a great idea to make rude remarks about his heritage. Having overheard, Masataka soaked him with his drink and demanded that he apologize.

“I will not let you insult my master this way!!” He had yelled, his clear voice indignant and wild, eyes baring into the flabbergasted drunkard.

What was this? Souma’s heart thundered to life, and not even he could prevent the ungraceful dropping of his jaw in that moment. What was this scene playing out before him? It was such an alien thing. Someone...actually stepped in to help him? Defend him? Scold someone else on his behalf? Even more so, everything after that. Giving him a bag of fresh croquettes, with that same warm, friendly, guileless smile. Offering to help him sleep by reading to him before bed. Protecting him from being stabbed by his former employee.

“You are not a dog! Would you do anything for me?” Souma had chastised him for blindly following his orders.

It was his response that froze him into stunned, tense silence. “I think even dogs choose the master they follow.”

Cherry blossoms unfurled in the spring landscape, their dainty petals riding the wind, floating onto the earth. Finally. Finally, here was someone. Someone who liked him and would stay by his side until the end of his days. Someone who genuinely liked him, for solely him! Words couldn’t possibly describe how drawn he was to Masataka and his youthful charm and his wide eyed exclamations that made everything he talked about seem suddenly fresh, reborn anew, whereas he always thought his life would be naught but mundane monotony.

By God, he wanted Masataka. He wanted all of him. He wanted to hug him, kiss him, protect him from all evil, claim him only for himself, taste his lips, hear his voice, trail his fingers across his skin, own his mind, body, heart, and soul, go inside of him--

No. Souma knew what was coming. The dark, impure desires that surged in his heart spoke to him. He couldn’t ravage Masataka. It was wrong. If he ever tried to have his way with Masataka, then he would be no different from those who abused him so. If he ever knew the truth…

“Won’t you please kill me?” He had asked Masataka the first day they met. Of course he wouldn’t take it seriously. Oh, did he want Masataka to kill him, if only to save himself from everything. From the Saiki house. From it’s dark secrets. From people who would hurt him in ways that no amount of medical care could ever heal in a single lifetime. From Souma. From Souma’s darkness, his wicked, impure desires, from the pain he would inflict upon him.

Perhaps there wouldn’t be an end to the darkness in his heart after all. All he could do was succumb to it. He knew of nothing else.

Even in darkness, the cherry blossoms Souma hated with every fiber of his being bloomed, keeping up their beautiful facade.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Cherry blossoms, or sakura, are one of the symbols of Japan, and one of their most well known. In most anime and manga, cherry blossom petals are always falling, which the Japanese see as representative of the ephemerality of life and mortality, like a child dying young. They’re revered for their seemingly eternal beauty and fleeting nature, blooming, their petals falling, never wilting. The manga’s title, Sakura Gari, can mean either cherry blossom hunt or cherry blossom harvest.
> 
> 2\. Croquettes are deep fried fish, usually shaped like a patty, made by mixing cooked chopped meat, seafood, or vegetables with mashed potatoes or white sauce, rolling it in wheat, flour, eggs, and bread crumbs, then deep frying until it’s brown on the outside.


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